Easy Come, Easy Go
by allakimbo
Summary: During "Bound" T'Pol mulls over her relationship with Commander Tucker...and wonders how to broach an unusual subject. COMPLETE.


Easy Come, Easy Go

T'Pol couldn't decide where there was more havoc: in the hallways of the ship or in the corridors of her mind. She walked briskly through the former as she tried to clear the latter.

Ever since the three Orion women had boarded the ship the men were distracted, the women harried, and everyone's nerves were shot. The order that usually made Enterprise run like a perfectly wound clock was breaking down.

When T'Pol had boarded the ship over three years ago she had been wary of accepting a position on a human ship. Other Vulcans had attempted to cohabitate with the overly emotional species before but never with much success. One of the earliest aids in her adaptation process had been the predictable order, the recognizable pattern that formed the foundation of life in close quarters. She had not realized how much she still needed it until it had been so thoroughly disrupted by three green women in slinky attire.

She pulled herself to an abrupt halt. In her preoccupation her feet had brought her in the direction of the mess hall—she was supposed to be heading for engineering. How had that happened? She'd been distracted lately, unable to concentrate, sleep, or even meditate properly. These past few days she had become concerned that it might start to interfere with her work. Was it really because of the Orion women?

As if to answer her question the mess hall door slid open and Commander Tucker walked out. He stopped briefly, weary and clutching a cup of coffee as though his life depended on it. Slipping one hand on the small of his back, he arched and stretched, scrunching his tired face and bleary eyes as he did so.

_He looks so tired, so ragged_, T'Pol thought. She could almost feel his exhaustion, as though it were a physical presence in the room around them. He sighed and started to trudge off in the direction of engineering. Unlike all of the other males on the ship, including Captain Archer, Trip seemed unaffected by the charms of the Orions. He had been working nonstop in engineering to repair the remaining damage caused by the cold start and the Klingons, aided only by the other female crewmembers.

"Commander," she called. He stopped, swiveled his head to look at her. "Are you…heading for engineering?"

"Yep. Won't stand for long without me there to hold it together, apparently." He tried to muster a smile and failed.

"I am headed in that direction as well. I will accompany you."

He cocked his head and squinted his eyes at her. "You're headed there? Via the mess hall? Where did you come from, the bridge?"

She nodded, thinking quickly. "I came to…stop by for a cup of tea," she told him.

"Well, don't let me keep you." The doors slid back open as he hit the panel on the wall next to them.

She assumed he would leave but he just waited, watching her expectantly.

"C'mon T'Pol. I'm a gentleman but I'm not gettin' your tea for you."

"You will…wait for me?"

"Don't get flattered. I need all the help I can get in engineering. At this point I'd settle for a sedated Klingon, as long as he was willin' to lend a hand." This time the smile was more successful. She fought the sudden, silly urge to return it and hurried into the mess.

Her mind was abuzz as she watched her tea trickle from the depths of the drink dispenser. What was going on here? Through the windows in the doors she saw Trip sipping his coffee, waiting patiently for her. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be ticking off items on some mental checklist on the fingers of his free hand.

It hit her—hit her with a force that made the Xindi weapon look like a toy phaser. Her mental disarray had nothing to do with the breakdown of order on the ship. It had nothing to do with the Orion women or even with her continuing effort to find her Vulcan identity through the Kir'shara. She had been searching for answers to her struggles, trying to figure out what was making them so much more turbulent, so much more unsettling…when they weren't her struggles at all.

They were Trip's. Her uncertainty, her fatigue, her growing concern over the state of the ship: they were all Trip's.

All at once she was hopeful and pessimistic, relieved and concerned. T'Pol had suspected that she and the Commander were bonded—he had occupied a great deal of her waking and sleeping mind—but it hadn't seemed real until this moment, until she realized that she wasn't just seeing him, she was feeling him as well. Could he feel her as well? Was he aware that something had changed between them?

Her feet hadn't absently led her down this corridor to see him here—her heart and her subconscious had teamed up and were calling the shots whether she liked it or not. They were telling her: _talk to him. You need to tell him. You don't need to face this alone…you don't _want_ to face this alone._

Yes. It was logical to tell him of the bond, of course. He was part of it, he should know what it was about. But what could she tell him? How could she explain something she did not fully understand herself? How could she make him understand…a bond was not a mechanical confine, it was a choice that became a living, breathing part of two people.

What if he wanted it broken? Did she? No, of course not. If she wanted it broken it would never had formed in the first place.

It was a staggering realization, and she suddenly wanted to tell Trip…well, to tell him everything.

A sound made her jump. Trip was knocking on the window, waving to get her attention. She hastily gathered up her mug and exited.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You look as overwhelmed as I feel."

She almost dropped her mug. He had no idea, _no idea_, how true that was.

She opened her mouth to tell him about the bond, to start to explain, when he interrupted her.

"Sorry I broke your reverie back there, but Hess called me. There's some major trouble in engineering—from what she said, it sounds like the warp core is acting up. I'd appreciate a sound head and a fresh set of eyes down there." He smiled again. "Kinda like old times, huh? You, me, imminent disaster…"

She nodded. The moment to tell him was not now. It had, in fact, long since passed. She should have told him about this when she first suspected it—they might not be in this mess, he might not be assigned to Columbia, if she had done that. Strangely, she was not worried. Another moment would present itself. It was inevitable: they were _bonded_.

Bonded. Her mind soared at this wonderful, frightening thought. Yes, soon there would be time for them to talk—she would not let him go so far as the Columbia again before then. She would make certain of that. He was happier here anyway, right now she could feel his surge of loyalty and affection as they approached engineering.

"T'Pol," Trip asked, looking at her quizzically, "did you just smile?"

"No Commander," she paused outside the door before entering. "You did."


End file.
